Page 58 of Parker

“Except your feelings.”

“Except my feelings,” I whisper. She slides her fingers to my cheek, cupping the black bristles of my beard against her palm. Her gentle touch gives me the courage to ask, “Do you hate me anymore?”

“Quinn. Come on.” She wrinkles her nose at me. “Does itfeellike I hate you?”

“No.”

“I don’t hate you,” she says, brushing her lips against mine before leaning back to look into my eyes. “But to be honest, I’m very confused. When you asked me out for tonight, I said yes because…well, saying no didn’t occur to me. Everything’s been new since we got to Vegas. Everything’s been different. I like this you. I’ve really liked spending time with you here.”

“What about when we get home?” I ask, fighting back a frown.

She shrugs, sliding her hand from my face back to her lap. “I don’t know. I have no idea what happens when we get home. I’m just trying to keep up with what’s happening now.”

“Fair enough,” I tell her, though it bothers me terribly that my feelings are pitched so high. If she rejects them, the fall could be fatal.

The waiter arrives with our champagne, an ice bucket and two flutes. He pops the cork and pours one for each of us, then discreetly backs away.

“Do you want to make a toast?” Parker asks me, holding up her glass.

“Toasts are about wishes,” I tell her, watching the champagne bubbles rise to the top of my glass before popping.I look up at her, at her beautiful face by firelight, my green eyes seizing her blue. “And I feel like mine’s finally got a shot at coming true.”

“To wishes,” she whispers, giving me a small, pleased smile.

We clink our flutes together and drink.

Chapter 8

Parker

It’s not that I didn’t want to invite Quinn into my room last night. Part of me did, especially after that kiss we shared at the Legacy and the dozens we shared in the limo after dinner.

But I also know myself. Too much change all at once scares me.

And I don’t want to be scared of whatever is happening between me and Quinn. I don’t know if he’s what I want, but Idefinitelywant to keep exploring things.

So when he dropped me off at my door, we kissed again—and it was long and lingering and almost enough to make me change my mind—I thanked him for the date and told him I’d see him in the morning.

“Tomorrow night,” he’d said as I unlocked the hotel room door and pushed it open.

I’d turned around to look at him, feeling very desired and, therefore, pretty saucy. “What about it?”

“I want to spend it with you.”

“Yes.”

He’d grinned at me, a look of pure happiness with eyes sparkling, dimples deep, and freckles dancing.

“How about we stay in?” he’d suggested. “I’ll come here at six? We can order room service and watch a movie?”

“Sounds like heaven,” I’d purred, leaning forward to kiss his lips one more time before sliding into my room and locking the door behind me.

I’d leaned against the door, the living room of my suite dark but for the lights of the strip through the window. Kicking off myheels, I’d stepped over to the couch and fallen back on it with a dramatic sigh.

It was the best date I’d ever had.

Hands down.

No contest.

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